The Night Chicago Died
by Ghostey
Summary: When a rash of brutal killings rock the Windy City, who's a guy to turn to? A pair of brothers who may be just as scarred as he is. Dresden Files/Supernatural crossover. Set Season 2 after Nightshifter. Finally updated.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Night Chicago Died

**Author: **Ghostey

**Disclaimer: **Ghostey does not own anything pertaining to Dresden Files or Supernatural

**Genre: **Gen

**Pairing/Characters: **Features the Winchester Boys, Harry Dresden, Karrin Murphy. May have slight implications of Harry/Karrin, because that would rock. Alas, it isn't cannon, because Harry and Karrin are romantic masochists

**Rating: (please refer to the rating system we use below) **T, possibility of changing to M

**Spoilers: (if any) **Set 2nd season Supernatural and ermm right before Proven Guilty I suppose

**Summary: **Harry Dresden (Chicago's only professional wizard) tells us a case he works on with none other than the Winchester Boys.

**A/N: **(if any) Only note is this is bookverse Dresden, with the notable exception of Bob as a ghost, mostly because of my love of Terrence Mann. Oh, and POV is Dresden's. Because anything involving the Chicago wizard _has_ to be told from his perpective.

**The Night Chicago Died**

**Chapter 1**

In my line of work, you come across a great number of interesting people. We have the "good side" with my associates like Bob, a spirit akin to a supernatural encyclopedia, _some_ people of the White Council such as Ramirez, my brother Thomas, the Alphas, who are my personal favorite group of teenage mutant ninja werewolves, and I can't forget Michael Carpenter who is literally the Fist of God. Opposite of that we have… well certainly A) anyone trying to kill me. B) Vampires, regardless of the Court they're in… Red Court, Black Court, White Court, whatever. All vamps have it out for me, but the Red Court especially. C) Faeries, usually, but not limited to, the Winter court, my godmother, and the Summer court – _usually_ in that order. And D) Demons, Demons are malicious little S.o.B.s that I try to limit my interaction with. Oh, and I suppose I should mention my own little conspiracy group that I have labeled "The Black Council," which oh so clever because they're my Templar Knights of the White Council.

But those are all the beings that have some sort of connection with the paranormal. In terms of "normal" people in and around the Windy City I have people like Lieutenant Karrin Murphy and the rest of Special Investigations who try their best against the dark things in the world which I so "eagerly" entangle myself with.

There are some people however, scattered about the world don't just try their best against monsters and the like – they _are_ the best when it comes to mortals on the front line without any magical abilities. I personally have only come across a few in my lifetime, being that generally most of them see only in black and white, and to some I'm considered somewhat supernatural I suppose… with that being said, they fall under the category of A and I like to avoid that list under A. Other times, there are those who recognize that not everyone associated with the occult is a bad guy - two of those people were John Winchester and his son; I had worked with them on some nasty business nearly four years ago.

I had lost touch with them somewhere along the line; I supposed they were still gallivanting around the country doing the odd businesses the stationary crime fighters like myself can't get to. It was interesting to work with the hunters, for they carried a dark sense of oppression that I suppose I carried sometimes as well, but they bore it _the whole freaking time._ John refused to fill me in on his past, which was fine by me, because I wasn't going to tell him my own story, but the son, Dean, that's what his name was, was more personable than the father.

Dean was only a couple of years younger than I was, and the evening after we… took care of things… I decided to take the Winchesters to McAnally's pub, celebrate the evening. Dean agreed to go whereas his father just smiled grimly and said he was going to turn in.

When we got there Dean lit up at the sight of the menagerie of people in the bar, immediately the kid started to clean up the few drunks hustling pool but before things would start to explode I gently dragged Dean to a booth in the corner.

Dean seemed like a nice kid, but his ease in the presence of so many people was a façade, his eyes darted around the room dangerously. I looked at him and smiled. "Don't worry," I said, "No one's going to kill you."

He had laughed, which was something I hadn't heard throughout the entire hunt with his father, they had seemed stressed about something the whole time, and I couldn't pin it down what they were worried about. Primarily it was John who seemed anxious and it must have only started to rub off on Dean. But with his laugh, seeing the stiff false mask melt into something more relaxed, I ordered two steaks and two ales, and when they were done I got up and brought the two plates back to our table. I had wolfed down the food, I had been starving after the case, but I remember Dean savoring the food and the environment.

Finally, he ventured carefully saying, "You know? I never knew there were people like you."

It had been my turn to laugh, "There are a lot of things out there, and knowing what you do know, don't you think that anything's plausible?"

"But "professional" wizards? Heh, I guess I learn something new everyday."

After we finished our meal Dean and I played pool the rest of the night, and he pretty much wiped the floor with my ass. He had looked at me with mirth and said that he went easy on me, and I didn't doubt him for a second. I scrape by with my meager income consulting for Chicago Special Investigations, but hunters usually received no payments of any kind, so surprisingly enough there are people who are even more broke than I am challenging spooks and haunts. I suspect that some form of illegal scam involving credit cards has something to do with their income.

We parted ways, telling him to keep in touch and that if he was ever in the Chicago area to drop me a line. "I am the only one under "Wizards" in the phone book, you can't miss me," I told him before he disappeared down the dark Chicagoland streets.

That night, I trouped down to my lab when I got to my apartment. I hadn't had much of a chance to investigate the Winchester family while working with them. This was something I tended to do in my practice, work with people I didn't know whether or not to trust, but that comes with the job. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, my ever so helpful assistant materialized in the middle of the room, folding his arms.

"Back so soon? I was worried that you would leave for the wide road without me," Bob said, following me as I sat down heavily in the chair. I was filled with… gosh, I remember being tired, elated, happy, content, broody, and curious all at the same time that night. The night out with Dean had put me in an overall good mood, because I didn't _go out_ with friends much anymore, or in fact saw people as friends. It was a prerogative for wizards to be hermits and hate the world. "Did you have a good time?" Bob said to me patronizingly.

"I'm fine," I said as flatly as I could. I looked up at Bob who had a mild look of curiosity on his face. "Tell me, can you find out anything about the Winchesters? Do you know anyone in the Nevernever that might know their story?"

Bob smirked slightly, "Why would you like to know Harry?" I was going to answer him, but he said before I could, "Yes, I can see what I can dig up on them if you're so interested."

"It won't be pretty," I said, recalling how John avoided the subject of him and Dean's past when I even broached the subject.

"It never is," Bob replied knowingly.

Later that night I could recall Bob coming back and telling me what he could find out, how it wasn't just John and Dean, but there was also another son, he didn't find out the name. They were big time hunters, heavy hitters, and even in the Nevernever their names were spoken in hushed tones like legends or something like that.

It seemed impossible that one family, one _mortal_ family could gather that much fame in such a short amount of time, but somehow fitting – they did what they could to stop anyone from getting hurt because of the black sheep of the universe, and they were damn good at it too.

It was kind of like how I was, people knew me (as evidenced by those who try to kill on a regular basis) and people respected me. So then it didn't seem so implausible and I could respect the Winchesters so much more.

But all that had been a long time ago, and I didn't think much of them for years, I had my own problems to deal with, such as evil sorcerers and/or necromancers, kind of starting a war between the White Council and vampires, Susan, and a wicked battle for Middle-Earth (joking – it was over Faerie, long story) and so forth. They vanished from my mind as quickly as they had blown into it like tumbleweeds.

As usual, I was at wits end with no jobs, no rent money, and seriously… I was running low on just about everything in my kitchen, most importantly coffee, coca cola, and cocoa puffs, even my cat, Mister, was suffering because I had no Coke in the fridge. It was evident, he hissed at me the other night when I didn't give him any soda for dinner, because I didn't have any myself.

While I contemplated calling Murphy as to whether or not she had any potential cases that may have needed… someone of my profession and knowledge, I descended the steps to my lab. Plunking my butt on the chair I had there I sat waiting for something to waltz my way and provide me with the cash I so desperately needed.

Mister perused onto my lap and I absentmindedly tickled my fingers underneath his chin. I knew what he wanted… food. Like I did. But being the sucker I am I'd been feeding Mouse and Mister more than I had eaten myself so neither my dog nor my cat had any right to complain.

Behind me, I heard Bob say, "It might interest you to know that your friend is back in town."

I was puzzled, my friends included the Alphas, Murphy, and Michael, all of who lived in Chicago with me, there was no reason for them to skip town and be… dare I say it… worthy of mentioning by Bob.

"I meant that Winchester boy," Bob said apathetically, "I had forgotten to mention it to you the last time they were here, so I made sure of it this time."

I got up hastily, brushing myself off as if John and Dean were waiting for me beyond my door at the very moment. "When were they here last?" I almost felt betrayed at the fact they hadn't contacted me, but then again, I wasn't bursting at the seams to contact them either.

"Oh, about a year and a half ago, maybe… perhaps a year or so?" Bob's tone had turned to one aloof and it seemed floaty.

"What were they doing?" I asked him.

"Oh, their job. You were busy doing other things, and you failed to notice the case they had been on, mind you they probably had a job far worse than yours I'd imagine."

I gritted my teeth; Bob never ceased to amaze me in his capacity to irritate me while still being the first person I turned to when I was feeling jaded.

"They had a run in with some Daevas. You had turned the case down when Miss Murphy asked you because you were fixing some issue with Michael or something like that."

"Daevas?" I said incredulously, "Those haven't been around for… what's it been?"

"Since the decline of Zoroastrianism."

"Right."

"Besides which, they left soon after they got here."

"And they're here now?" I asked impatiently.

"Need I repeat myself Harry?" Bob replied in a tired voice, "Honestly, sometimes you should listen to someone who is hundreds of years your elder."

I laughed. "You need to get out more," I said with a grin plastered on my face.

Bob shot me a glare and dissipated back into amber light and into his skull. He was pretending to be sulking, but I knew better than that. I patted the skull on the head (literally, what else could I have patted?) and stalked my way up the stairs to the main portion of my living room.

I debated whether or not to see if I could talk with them… surely one of them had left something I could have traced or used to find them. Neither had left me a phone number to reach them by, and I got the feeling that if they didn't want to be found no civilian means could, therefore, I needed to use magic.

I looked around the apartment, trying to recall what it was that John had left, because he did… I remembered it. Oh, right, John had left a relic he had been carrying with him for some years. He must have not known what to do with it so he left it in my capable hands to figure out. Honestly, I had completely forgotten about the task and I felt guilty about it then. Peeking my head into the stairwell, I yelled to Bob, "Find that thing of Winchester's!"

He materialized through a bookcase and gave me a funny look. "Do you mean the father's knickknack you abandoned or the toiletry bag they left behind?"

I gave him a stunned look, "No kidding?" I was surprised, that would make it easier to track them down, and personal items like that… hopefully there would be hair or something.

"Why would I?" he returned, feigning surprise in the fact that I would question him. "It's underneath the sink… I believe you used their toothpaste when you ran out two months ago."

I practically ran to the bathroom, using my long strides to me advantage and rummaged around the cabinet until I found a drab, well-worn bag containing toothbrushes, a hairbrush, and spare bits of dental floss.

The darker hair would be John's, I assumed, so I picked off two or three strands for my spell work. It only took a moment for the spell to take effect, and it took less than a moment for my crystal to fizzle out and die.

Well then… I sat back into my chair and let out a deep breath. For my spell to simply not work like that only meant one thing – John Winchester was dead. I looked at Bob who shrugged at me sympathetically. "Wow… I didn't think that he would be…"

"I should have told you earlier, there _are_ two Winchesters in Chicago at the moment, but it's the son and the younger brother," Bob elaborated.

The excitement in my chest quieted down with the sobering notion of the elder Winchester's demise, and I used the same spell I have earlier for Dean. It worked, this time, thankfully and I got up to follow where it would lead me. I put on my old black duster and told Bob I would return later that evening.

Funny thing about crystals is that they don't follow a straight line, nor do they follow the roads and streets of Chicago – they turn, and twist, without reason or rhyme but eventually it would get you to your destination. I expected that, but to my general surprise it was completely rigid and didn't stray from one direction, hell, it didn't even sway back and forth in a pendulum motion as I walked down the sidewalk, as if the string was a wire as solid as a pole. This meant that I zigzagged repeatedly before coming across an old hotel on the outskirts of town.

Chicago is a great city, with Lake Michigan lapping up against it and one can get virtually anywhere by walking, but I really dislike it when I get to the bad parts of town. Don't get me wrong, I usually do business with the "bad parts of town," but this was a bad cheap part – kind where faeries are prevalent and vampires usually haunt the corners waiting for homeless or nondescript persons to wander by.

It's really no surprise that the tracking spell led me here…

I marched up to the black Impala parked and eyed it with interest; the Winchesters had a nice taste in vehicles, Dean had been sure to rub _that_ one in my face when we had first met. I had been getting into my own awesome car, the infamous Blue Beetle, when this beauty rolled down my street. The Beetle isn't so much blue as it once was, but it's the thought that counts, and it works, and it has survived a hell of a lot of beatings.

Their car had style. My car had stamina… which is what I told myself back then every time I saw it. I'm not jealous. I don't get jealous. What are you talking about?

The crystal pointed straight at one particular door, so I decided to just knock and see if he'd answer. Now, I know what you're thinking, hunters are jumpy, and they'll just as soon shoot you then ask questions as they would skip out of town the minute they'd finished their job.

I hoped that Dean wouldn't shoot me… that would have really ruined my day.

I knocked twice, proclaiming oh so cleverly that I was room service.

There was silence at the door for a moment, and I gave an impish grin to the lookout which I know someone was peering out of.

A tall dark-haired young man answered with a questioning look, "May I help you?"

"Is Dean there?" I ask, and as soon as it was out of my mouth I regretted it. More specifically, as soon as I pressed up against the door frame and realized this fact that I regretted it. I hate it when that happens, which is actually more often than I'd like to concede to, but still, come on, it always sucks.

"Hey now, I just wanted to talk to Dean Winchester," I mumbled out, and the only thing I got in response was to be pushed even harder. I could have used magic, but I didn't want to hurt the kid, heck, chances were this was the brother – seriously, and from what I gathered from their past I doubted that they liked buildings catching fire, a practice which I'm particularly good at.

I felt myself being shoved to the ground and a knee dig itself in my back. I heard the all-too familiar click of a handgun and the cold barrel butt up against my back.

Somewhere, I couldn't tell from which direction "Whoa now, Sammy… hold your horses."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw another figure move cautiously. It bent down low and whispered a small 'Cristo.' I knew that meant they wouldn't kill me for now at least, now to make sure Dean recognized me.

"Dresden?" the other figure choked out. I heard a playful punch, and then "Dude, get off him."

Oh, I loved the fact that the knee wasn't in my back; I was probably ten seconds from paying them to get off me. I brushed myself off and grinned, "Dean! Good to see you back in town. Good job with that Daeva case too, I heard about it through the grapevine."

Dean just smiled. The younger one looked confused as hell.

"Eh, messy business," Dean mused. I'm not one to make judgments, that's someone else's job, but Dean was obviously hiding something. I didn't want to press the issue - the look on his face was easy to read as one of a fake smile with sadness lurking underneath.

"Still, nonetheless, good work, I'm sorry I wasn't there to help out."

"Truth be told I hadn't even remembered to call you the case came so hard and fast."

"Umm… Dean?" The younger one ventured hesitantly.

A sobered for a moment, "Dean, I'm sorry about your father."

That shut the other one up. His mouth went from suspiciously open to clenched shut in a fraction of a second. The young man stared at me with calm, brown eyes, but I didn't look away from Dean.

The older brother was looking down at the floor, "It's no problem, it's… it's just rough you know?"

"Your dad was a good man. One of the best I knew," I said comfortingly. "It's a shame I didn't get to see him again before he died."

Dean didn't reply. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, so I held his shoulder, "Emotions are powerful things Dean, don't let them rule you. Resignation is one of the worse."

"Excuse me," the younger one found his voice and interjected, "Do I know you?"

I quietly laughed and made my way to the door, I wanted to give Dean space, I suppose I had opened up old wounds so I thought that I'd see him again the next day or some deal like that. Besides, the walk over had taken a little over an hour, the sun was setting, and Bob was expecting me back home before it got to be too late. "I'll be getting out of your hair now. If you want to get lunch somewhere or if you need any help look me up. Your brother knows where to find me."

I closed the motel door behind me.

After all, I'm Chicago's only professional spell caster. You'll find me under Wizards in the yellow pages. HARRY DRESDEN – WIZARD. Lost items found. Paranormal Investigations. Consulting. Advice. Reasonable rates. No love potions, endless purses, or other entertainment.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I don't like to assume things, not just because it makes an ass out of you and me, but because when I do generally bad things happen and I end up lying on my side with little bits of concrete molding to my face. Therefore, as happy as I was to see Dean, I knew that he was probably in a bad place and I assumed that he didn't want to see lil' 'ol me.

So when I was tidying up the office and by tidying I mean making some semblance of order out of chaos, an order that only I have any hope of figuring out, I was literally surprised to hear a knock on my office door.

Maybe not that surprised…

Spooked… maybe…

Or startled…

At least I don't shove guests into walls.

When I opened it I was met with the smiling faces of the Winchester brothers. Scratch that, the smiling face of Dean Winchester, and the slightly confused face of the younger one. I knew what he was looking at too, my sign, the one that trumpeted that Harry Dresden, was in fact, a wizard. It was like he never worked with a wizard before… imagine that.

"Hey Dean, come on in," I said, stepping to the side so the two could get through into my office/work space/love nest (just kidding about the last part.) "I was just wondering if I had scared you off last night, I probably should have called but you know me and phones." I chuckled and motioned for them to sit on the couch.

The younger one sat heavily in the padded couch and proceeded with his examination of my professional dwelling. I didn't mind, people did that a lot, because it's not everyday one gets to be in a wizard's workspace.

Dean jumped slightly when he caught my glance at his brother, "Oh, umm… I don't think you two have met, Harry, this is my brother Sammy."

I shook the boy's hand while he rolled his eyes at Dean. Looking back at me, he corrected, "My name is Sam."

Well that was odd, as I released Sam's hand I could feel the tingle of residual power on my own hand. Sam must have some power stored away within himself, and the Winchester family suddenly became much, much more interesting.

"Harry Dresden," I replied as cordially as I could, returning to the formality of introductions.

"I couldn't tell by the door," Sam replied sarcastically. "Are you really a…?"

Dean this time interjected before Sam could continue, "Sammy, don't worry about it, he's a good guy. Harry worked with Dad and me when you were at Stanford." Dean was covering for me… or covering himself. He wanted to control the situation, which must have been why I couldn't get a word in edgewise. The kid just wanted to be sure that Sam would be okay, and not flip out about the whole wizard deal.

Sam didn't seem entirely satisfied with that response, hell, I wouldn't have been either, especially in this line of business, but he shut his mouth to the matter and began flipping through the various pamphlets I had littered on my small wooden coffee table.

"Dude! So how have you been Dresden? Keeping busy with the hoodoo hijinks?"

"Busy is an understatement," I commented, stuffing my hands into my duster's pockets. "So what are you guys here for? Got a case that you thought I couldn't handle myself?"

"We might have," Sam said before Dean had the chance. "Murders, two of them. They both were violent messy deals that didn't match a regular pattern, missing organs and the deal. So we thought that we would double check that they weren't the result of Daevas like a year ago."

I nodded, the pair of murders was in the news, and I recalled how I was practically drooling over them for need of cash. In fact, I could remember simply sitting by my phone waiting for a call from Murphy saying she would need my expertise little over 16 hours ago.

"Jeez," Dean exhaled, "Harry… just so much as happened since we've last talked. It'll take way too long to explain it."

I waved my hand, "No need, I understand."

"Dude, you don't know the half of it."

"I could say the same thing to you," I laughed. I casually walked over to my small icebox that I recently added to my office for those smoldering Chicago summer days and pulled out two beers (I'm my own boss, I say I'm allowed to drink on the job), tossing one to Dean and keeping the other for myself. It was after twelve o'clock, and besides, with a potential for a Daeva job it meant that we wouldn't be heading out for another six hours at least.

I caught Dean throw a grin at his brother and Sam roll his eyes back. Kid must be at least old enough to drink then, so, sighing, I reached back to the icebox and got one for Sam too. I would need to go grocery shopping sometime in the near future then, more days and nights without a job caused a man to need alcohol, and badly. Sam shot a triumphant smile at Dean and twisted the bottle cap off with the bottom hem of his shirt.

"So, Dean never mentioned you before," he said casually between sips.

Okay, permit me some observations on my part, (not judgments, don't get me wrong, mere observations. Judgments, once again, is a job for the Big Guy Upstairs) but Sam Winchester appeared to be a man after my own heart. Dean was more of a rough and rowdy person, all the while keeping to himself especially in the whole emotions department, and he was good at it, just like his father. But Sam was a whole other roller coaster, and practically oozed emotional instability. I suppose he did his best to keep himself seeming "normal" to regular civilians (no doubt he was the most level-headed of the Winchester clan), however, I connected with him – the loss was there, the pain and confusion were traced in faint lines on his face.

The few glances I had at his eyes seemed similar to when I would look myself in a mirror. I try to do the right thing, but sometimes I screw up, sometimes people die or get hurt and it's my fault. Every single person has the possibility to give into the darkness and chaos that lurks around corners – I have a good chance of that, if I weren't so stubborn, and I could easily surrender to the call of Black magic (yes, Black, with a capital B) and fall from grace. Sam could too, as I perceived through my own intuition. He was on the edge of that, and walked a fine line between literal good and evil.

Frankly, I was terrified of what I might see if I looked him in the eyes and gazed at his soul.

Because I knew deep in my own mind that I'd be looking at myself along with it.

See the kind of company I keep? God, I love this job.

Snapping out of my reverie, I placed my own beer bottle down on the coffee table and took the seat opposite of the Winchesters. I paused, not knowing where to start my introduction beyond, "Hi, my name is Harry! I'm a Wizard!" Cue cheesy music here, enter the Harry Potter jokes now, please, thank you.

"Have you ever dealt with magic before? _Real_ magic? And thought about where it comes from?" The question was simple enough, and it was in fact addressed to both of the younger men. I hadn't use any of the flash-bang type magic with the Winchesters the last time they were here, only a simple tracking spell which was hardly "exciting" in the normal sense.

"We've encountered a lot of things," Sam replied dolefully, "Nothing I would hardly qualify as magic in the proper use of the word. Witches a few times, but they were doing cookbook spells."

"This is much easier to explain to you guys than others, you have no idea," I said, leaning back into the cushion, relaxing my legs from being crossed over one another. Once again, I stopped and went over the explanation in my head - how I could best describe it without sounding completely bonkers. "You guys familiar with the Force?" I asked with a mischievous glint in my eye.

Dean lit up, "Why yes Obi Wan. Alright, you get to be Kenobi, Sammy wants to be Luke, something about the long shaggy hair, being a pansy, the whole deal, and I get to be Han Solo."

"More like Chewy…" Sam muttered under his breath.

Ignoring the rest of the statement by Dean, in which he prattled about finding a Lea, I turned my attention to the younger brother. "Well, okay, so magic sort of permeates through life itself, it draws off feelings and emotions, and there are some people and beings that… umm… for lack of a better word, access and manipulate them."

Sam looked like he was rolling over what I had said in his brain. I noticed a slight shift in his countenance, where he went from healthy skepticism to a scholarly expression. Kid was smart then, I'd give him that.

Before I could continue, the phone to the right of my desk rang loudly, and I had sneaking suspension that it was Lieutenant Murphy. I lifted the receiver to my ear and cheerfully said, "Hello there! Harry Dresden's office, how may I help you today?"

"Cut the crap cute act Dresden," came the curt voice of Karrin Murphy.

"Oh sweetey, I love it when you talk to me like that," I replied, glancing mischievously at the two Winchester boy's sitting opposite of me. So maybe I like to antagonize her sometimes, she was cuter when she was angry. It was like our thing, she would be short (yes, both meanings of the word) and I would be my gentlemanly, chivalrous self. She hated it, but I could tell that she appreciated the acts as a sign of my friendship for her, at least, that's what I told myself.

"I need your take on a case Harry. I'm on my way to pick you up, and I'll be at your place in ten minutes."

"Charming. But give me twenty, I'm in the office but I'll need to pick up something from my apartment."

"We had a third body pop up last night, same mess," she said, her voice softening. "I need to catch this guy Dresden, any information you could find would be a big help."

"Alright," I replied, glancing at the Winchester brothers sitting on my office couch finishing up their drinks. Dean gave a grin and a small wave and Sam slapped his brother's hand down to stop him from distracting me.

"Good, see you in a bit." She hung up without so much as a "Thank you Harry, you're a doll."

I placed the phone back and went back to my seat. "Come on, we'll need to head over to my place. You two can follow me over to the apartment." I led them down the five flights of stairs to our respective vehicles. I'm _not_ jealous of their car…

-B-R-E-A-K-

"Where was I?" I asked when I led them to the dark entrance of my basement apartment.

"Who was that on the phone earlier?" Dean questioned, turning to a look of complete seriousness.

I waved it off, "Murphy, there was a third body found this morning I guess, wants me to take a look at it." He gave me an odd look, and I elaborated, "I consult for the police every now and then, pays the bills."

Sam gave Dean a queasy look for a second but Dean kept his confidant face up. Sighing, Sam went back to the previous conversation, "And you can do that? The whole, manipulating energies and emotions like that?"

I nodded, "I'm not the only one, there are whole slues of people who can do that as well, and I'm not exactly the poster child of magic-users."

He laughed, "Black sheep in the flock?"

"Black sheep among wolves," I said dangerously. The lights around my house flickered and seemed to grow dim and Sam visibly noticed. He seemed to shift uncomfortably in his seat looking around. I breathed in slowly and let it out in a long silent sigh, the lights returned to normal.

"What can you guys tell me about your case so far? If you don't mind sharing? Hell, if it's the same case Murphy has me work I might be able to float you guys some cash under the table when all is said and done."

Dean laughed, "Nah, you need the cash. Besides, just bring Sammy here to that awesome pub you took me to last time and we'll call it even."

Sam looked startled at his brother, "You remember going out to dinner? What kind of case was this that needed the collective intelligence of a wizard and Dad and you?"

"Demon," both Dean and I said at the same time.

Sam massaged his wrist, "Bad one?" The voice was small, almost childlike. I imagined that as badass as the Winchesters were they still must have not run up against demons all too often – and the fewer and farther between cases with demons were the better.

"Not the worst, but screwed up Harry pretty good," Dean replied. It was true, I've encountered some pretty nasty demons in my past, and the one we dealt with was not your garden-variety hellhound - smarter and bigger and uglier than the average bear. When we confronted it head on it had to gone for me first (the staff and pentacle gave me away, stupid Harry, stupid,) but John and Dean really stepped it up for civilians and we three managed to banish the thing "back from whence it came" in time.

After we nursed our wounds, mine being particularly bad, including a torn up shoulder and minor burn injuries, I had in fact taken Dean out for dinner. I was surprised he remembered.

"I was fine," I commented, "nothing a little Tylenol and TLC couldn't fix. So, what about the case this time around? Anything in particular that perked your interest?"

"Like we said before," Dean started, "Someone or something was leaving an M.O. like the Daevas… the whole brutal attacks, taking organs. Now, when we were here in Chicago last time, Sammy, Dad, and I didn't actually _kill_ the Daevas."

"We showed them the light," Sam said jokingly.

I started thinking about it, what I was familiar with Daevas suggested that they didn't last long after summoning, even if they were free to roam about, more likely than not they would've slowly but surely transferred back to the Nevernever. "But that doesn't make sense," I said, slowing my speech as if mucking through the idea would make it make more sense, "unless someone summoned a new batch, and that's ridiculously improbable that a nut job would summon the same type of demon in the same area as before. Especially with demons so old, they must really know their stuff."

"The first time we were here a pretty little psycho bitch from hell summoned them as a trap," Dean mused, "Blonde too… named Meg. Heh, Sam always attracts the crazy types."

Sam glared at Dean before I said, "Could be related to her then, was she a witch? Or what?"

"Possessed," Dean answered.

Ouch, I thought, that complicated things. Knowing the Winchester's past it also meant that this might be bigger than a couple of random homicides. "So if it is Daevas, as you suspect, it could be related to what happened last time it. It might possibly be a trap again then? This time to net one of you guys?"

"That's what we figured sort of, but we couldn't have anymore people getting hurt," Sam continued sincerely.

"And we just got here, so we don't have much information beyond that, damned if I know although. This is just speculation," Dean finished.

I stood up, taking the empty bottles of beer they still had carried into the apartment to the trash. I wiped my hands off and said, "I suppose I'll tell you anything else I find when I visit the crime scene with Murphy, maybe I can convince her that you two are up and coming investigators who I'm helping out."

"Yeah, about that…" Dean said. This couldn't be good, nothing starting with "yeah, about that" in that sort of tone never brought good news.

I arched an eyebrow at him, "You two aren't wanted by the police, are you?"

"That depends on your definition of "wanted by the police.""

Nope, this wasn't going to be good.

I shifted my weight onto one leg and crossed my arms, "Umm… are you guys in "bring in for questioning" trouble or "arrest on sight" trouble?"

Sam sat up from the back of the couch but Dean replied first, "Once again, depends on who you're talking about." Sam shot him a glare, but Dean continued, "Sammy here might get off with questioning, I, on the other hand… I'm kind of wanted dead or alive by the FBI."

"Dean…" I rumbled, placing my hands over my face, God, this was embarrassing. I knew he was trouble, but I didn't know he was a reckless illegal fugitive nonetheless.

The younger boy stood up, holding his hand out in defense of his brother, "Dean didn't do anything wrong, and we had some shape shifter problems. A while ago it took Dean's form and killed a whole bunch of girls. We killed it, but it died with Dean's form therefore they thought Dean Winchester was dead. Then we got caught later on, and they figured out Dean wasn't dead and there was this bank robbery and…"

"You robbed a bank?!" I burst out.

"No," Sam said sharply, "It was another shifter."

"Okay, okay, I believe that," I replied, cooling down my initial shock over the news that my friend was a fugitive. That put a spoke in my plans then, I had to figure out a way that I could still work with Murphy without alerting her to the two fugitives in my home and office.

Damnit… Murphy. Just as I thought that I heard a knock on the door, the usual anxious knock Murphy used when she was hot on a case. "Just a minute!" I called. Normally I'd feel bad about leaving Murphy outside, typically I'd let her in while I readied my supplies, but this time I couldn't risk the Winchester brothers.

"Okay kids," I said softly, "You two will play nice in the lab while I'm out alright?" It was patronizing, but nonetheless urgent. The two got up and followed me to the large steel door of my lab and ushered them inside. "Don't touch anything," I warned, "And don't let Bob annoy you."

"Dresden! Open the door!" Murphy yelled. She was going to be pissed, but I just made sure that the brothers were out of sight when I grabbed my staff and opened the door. "Harry, what the hell were you doing?" she huffed. I lifted the staff slightly and she rolled her eyes at me, "Come on, the corpse is getting cold and so is my patience."

"One second," I breathed, I checked the wards I had constructed surrounding my house just for double measure and followed the short Lieutenant to her car. "What are the details?" I asked.

"Homicide, like the last two, not sure yet what _this_ one is missing."

"What were the others missing?"

"The first one lost her heart, followed up by the guy without a liver."

"Dirty job then."

I opened her car door for her and the blonde threw up her hands in frustration, "I just can't wrap my head around it Harry. Each case is so drastically different, except the fact that they all died vicious deaths and they're missing parts of themselves. Maybe I just think you'll see something we can't."

"That's what you pay me for," I replied, getting into the passenger side of the police-issue sports vehicle. "But we also all like a little company now and again," I concluded, thinking of the Winchesters in my lab.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Lieutenant Murphy drove in silence, which wasn't something that I particularly liked, but given her line of work it was acceptable. I may have seen my fair share of dead bodies in my day, but I didn't have to go through it almost on a daily basis. I found lost cats and helped train young wizards and rid houses of poltergeists – Murphy got to see dead people. It must be hard to feel alive with all that death.

When we got to the apartment complex, Murphy flashed her badge at the officer standing at the door to the crime scene. I followed suit with flashing my own little dinky badge Chicago Police Department had provided me with. Striding up next to Murphy as with walked down a long (but nicely decorated) entrance hall and carefully considered the facts I already knew about this case.

The first and foremost of the data I had gathered was the fact that there were three bodies stacked up. _Three._ Meaning this was one seriously pissed off something or someone. And the fact that the Winchesters were here in Chicago meant that more likely than not it was attributed to some form of supernatural being.

The methods of deaths for the victims were related only in manner, more like an animal attack, so something malicious had set a demon on the poor people. But to do that would require a person to direct the demon, and that someone had to have the stones to hold the demon in control for this long without letting it loose on themselves.

In addition, none of the victims had any connection to speak of. Looking through the case files Murphy had handed me in the car they all led very separate lives.

The first victim, Virginia Woods was found in a library on the outskirts of the city, she was a poor college student and writing a term paper on the effects of "such and such" on "what do you call its." The crime scene photos captured every drop of blood scattered onto the books she had been reading over before her death. Her glazed blue eyes stared indefinitely in one frozen direction and her blonde hair draped over her slumped shoulders.

She was young, and pretty, and smart… and didn't deserve that death.

The second victim, a John Doe, had been a bald fat man. He had been wearing dirty and tattered clothes, presumably they had been worn for several days and I figured the man had been homeless. He had a bushy beard but a completely bald scalp and unlike Virginia's look of emptiness this man appeared scared senseless.

Not that I meant to disrespect the dead, but a little note of irony is that he lost his liver and he held a rather large and rather _empty_ Jack Daniels bottle in a limp hand.

But photographs don't carry the metallic stench of blood and the sense of oppression that a murder scene typically has.

The apartment exuded wealth and a well-to-do manner. Haughty in its high crimson walls and gold décor, the only signs that this was a home rather than a showcase of affluence was a couple pictures of a blonde boy about five and a dog. A big ol' hulking golden retriever sat patiently next to an officer, lapping its tail happy with all the company.

"Is this guy the owner's?" I asked the officer, stooping down slightly to rub the dog's yellow head. The dog greeted it merrily and his tongue lolled out in glee.

While I played with the dog, Murphy folded her arms and asked the junior officer sternly where the body had been found. He pointed in the direction of the bedroom and held onto the leash of the dog tighter. He must not have wanted to see the body again and was using "babysitting the dog" as his excuse.

Murphy sighed, "Come on Harry."

Both the dog and I looked at her expectantly, but I was the one to get up and follow her. "See you later Harry," I told the dog, waving my hand somewhat and he nuzzled it affectionately. The smile creeping on my face quickly faded though as I penetrated the wall of death that hovered in the air around the bedroom.

Greeting me as I stepped inside the bedroom was a tangle of silk sheets and torn pillows. The place had been trashed like a fight had gone on. There were six neat bullet holes in the walls and there was a small revolver that was clenched in the victim's hand.

The guy put up a fight then, so it wasn't some form of thaumaturgy like what happened a couple years ago. Something tangible went in this guy's house, over a threshold nonetheless, and still had enough power to kill the guy.

Thresholds are a natural thing that occurs in homes and dwellings. Feelings, energies, and emotions of the families residing in a home build up as an innate protection against evil things. I supplement my own meager threshold with wards and the sort, but I still had that threshold to protect me. I have a crappy threshold, no family, it's an apartment, no permanent sense of belonging, and if I were to guess (which is what I get paid to do) this guy didn't have much of one either.

So something badass enough managed to overthrow the threshold, which made me very concerned about the case – the whole idea of inviting vampires in homes had to come from somewhere after all. Or, as the case may be, the thing was invited in, allowing all of its power in with it, which seemed more reasonable for damage this bad.

But then why did the guy shoot at it?

"Hello, I'm a big scary monster about to swallow your soul! May I come in?"

"Sure!"

"Dead by dawn!"

Bam. Bam! BAM!

Yeah… because _that _made any sense.

Humanoid creature maybe? Rogue vampire with a vendetta? Ghoul?

"What's the guy missing this time Murph?" I ask her as I take a step closer to the body.

She shrugged, "We don't know yet, I'm having Butters look for anything out of the ordinary when it comes to that. I'm no medical examiner so I can't tell you that off the top of my head."

I stood up, scratching my head in confusion, I just couldn't make heads or tails of a pattern, this thing (whatever it was) knew whom it was going for and planned accordingly. There where probably more victims it would go after and I needed to find it before it did.

"Any ideas?" Murphy asked casually.

"Not really," I sighed, "I can tell you what it _isn't_ though. I know it can't be magic, this is something tangible, and violent as hell. Powerful too, to be able to survive a fight with a guy with a gun." I looked at the victim, "He was no lightweight either."

"So something was actually here, not voodoo or anything like that?"

"No," I replied simply, "Just look at how he used a gun. He obviously had something to shoot at so there was another thing here."

Murphy stepped closer to one of the incriminating bullet fragments, "There's blood evidence on some of these, we can try to see if any DNA pops up that we already know." She lowered her voice so only I could hear, "I'll give you a swab, anything to help me nab this guy."

She held up an orange tube with a single cotton swab inside it. It wasn't much to work with, but it would be enough to let Bob work his magic. I pocketed it and held it tight in my fist as we both exited the apartment.

"Hey Dresden, I'll pay you for a cab back home, I have some work to finish up here. Figure out what you can with…" her voice trailed off.

"No problem," I assured, "I'll do what I can."

She looked like she was about to walk back into the apartment, but then she turned and opened her mouth hesitantly like she had something to say. The look in her eyes changed and she stopped herself. I waited patiently and opened my arms to her in a waiting expression. "Are you the only one who does… umm… your sort of thing?"

"Why do you ask?" I said, folding my arms.

"People from around know about my affiliation with the unexplained, some FBI guy sent me a very interesting tape I want you to take a look at sometime. It's down your alley in terms of weirdness," she added with a slight smirk.

"I can do weird," I smiled back.

"Well, I'll try to arrange that then. Either the guy's off the deep end, which is most people's opinions, but I think there might be something to it."

"Let's just stick with one case for now Murph, or I'll have to charge you double."

She grinned, "And I only pay you for results. Track down this serial killer for me."

**Author's Note: **Short transition chapter, mostly just to set the scene so to say, the Winchester's will be back next Saturday when I'm done moving back home from college. _And_ while I'm at it, go ahead check out my other fic **Equinox, **which, unlike this puppy, should be updated every 4 days or so. This bad boy has updates Satuday evening's.

Leave a review, let me know what you think! I promise, Winchester's will be back next week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

--

Back at my apartment, I found both Dean and Sam lounging on my sofa when I returned. Mister had been curled up on Sam's lap while Dean had his feet on my coffee table. I set my staff down at the door and took off my duster. "You guys do anything exciting while I was gone?" I asked playfully.

"Dude, your place is boring as hell for someone so bizarre. You could at least have a television, or video games. I'm up to my eyeballs in books here," Dean whined.

"I have a pack of cards," I suggested, "Poker night, you know. Fun crowd too, you would like them. A ghoul, a vampire, and a wizard all walk into a bar…"

Sam scratched Mister under the chin, "Did you find anything interesting at the scene?"

"I got some blood, we can see what Bob makes of it."

"Who's Bob?" Sam asked.

I grinned at Sam as he glanced to the hallway where none other than my favorite damned spirit of knowledge and intellect walked out through the opposing wall.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean shot, glaring at him. I could almost feel the older Winchester reaching for his pistol, thankfully however, the kid _didn't_ actually make to shoot Bob.

Bob ignored him, and looked directly at me, "What did you need me for?"

"I need you to find out who this is," I said, holding up the translucent orange tube for him to see. I popped the top of it and laid the swab on the table for Bob to inspect.

"Delightful. I suppose you stole this from an evidence bag?" He accused.

I knew he was joking, but I still defended my self by shaking my head, "Nope, Murph gave it to me as an anniversary present, told me to "keep it secret, keep it safe.""

Sam chuckled. Sad thing was, is that Tolkien actually had Gandalf right on the money, sort of. Tolkien had been "inspired" by some faeries about the story of Middle-earth, most of it was Tolkien's own imagination granted, but Gandalf and the four other wizards of Middle-earth were based on real sorcerers. That was why I loved the Hobbit so much, and the whole series; nothing like reading about historical figures that hundreds upon thousands of drooling fans thought weren't real. Frodo does, in fact, actually live.

Bob silently looked at me with little amusement. Then he sighed, "Let's see who it is." He placed his "hand" over the cotton swab and before our eyes transformed into a young woman with long auburn hair and dazzling hazel eyes. Despite those colors, she seemed pale and unhealthy, as though she'd been sick for a while. "Do you recognize this?" Bob asked.

I shook my head; I had never seen her before.

"It feels… incomplete," Bob said hesitantly, "Like I'm not entirely here."

_That_ was cryptic.

Laying the obvious ghostly jokes aside, I remained serious. "How so?" I questioned, Bob had done some weird (and I mean _weird)_ sleuthing before but he never had told me the glamour felt imperfect.

"It's bizarre," Bob poked "herself" in the stomach a couple of times, "Something's missing."

Sam shot a glance at me, "The victims were missing body parts, right? Is the first victim?"

I shook my head, "No, that girl was blonde, besides, she was already dead before this guy was even killed." I looked at the Bob's glamour closer, "Nope, definitely two different girls." Bob awkwardly shuffled "her" feet, but I continued, "This girl was there the night of the murder, got shot in the crossfire maybe."

"Or _was_ the murderer," Dean put forth - stating what I knew everyone was thinking, but too hesitant to speak aloud.

I waved my hand and Bob dismissed the glamour all too eagerly. "Thank heavens," he breathed, "For a moment there I thought you were keeping me that way for show."

"Sacrifices need to be made Bob," I grinned.

Sam still appeared in investigator mode, and stood up and began pacing around my living room. He turned and strode up to Bob, "You said incomplete? Right?" He turned back towards Dean and I, "She could be another victim. She might have been there that evening and got shot or something like that. After the thing got through with bachelor man he made for the girlfriend and took her somewhere."

"Worth investigating," I said, "I'll draw up a sketch of her and see if Murphy has any ideas. Get the local morgues and hospitals for Jane Does. Bob? Can you look through the newspaper pile for any cases that might involve whatever this thing is?"

"Certainly," Bob nodded, "Then I have to ask you to through that ridiculous pile of papers away, I'll have them memorized by the end of the night anyway. Goodness Harry, you can't keep all of that stuff, some might think you're a pack rat." Bob faded through the wall and I returned to my conversation with the Winchester brothers.

"I can't believe you work with the police on these things," Sam said, "This Murphy must be one tough cookie to face the things that we deal with."

"_I_ can't believe _she_ believes _you_," Dean grinned.

"She does what she can," I sighed, things were… complicated with Murphy most days, "And she's a friend, so knock off the perverted oversexed teenage boy act."

"I'm not a teenage boy," Dean replied defensively.

Sam stopped pacing and walked over to the two of us, "You act like one Dean."

"My god I hate this…" Dean said, running his hand through his hair looking up at Sam and I.

"What?" I ask curiously. Dean threw a look of utter disgust and loathing at us before turning away with his arms folded across his chest. Sam and I glanced at each other sheepishly as if we both had an idea of what the older Winchester was going to say next.

"You're both freaking giants… you're too damn tall."

I just let out a small smile. Sam just laughed.

"Laying our _towering_ height aside," I grinned, "Seriously, I don't want to risk you guys with my business with Murphy. When she's in the picture I want you guys to book it out of there and fast. You'll need to keep yourselves hidden and keep your own asses out of jail."

"That's cool," Dean shrugged. He looked out the window, "Something tells me this ain't going to be a clean cut salt and burn." He smirked at me, "You tend to complicate things."

"It's all for fun," I beamed, "But I don't think it's a salt and burn. I've known spirits to damage like this but spare few, and that had extenuating circumstances."

"You piss off the wrong person?"

Heh, so this was the point where Dean wanted a spitting contest, I was game. The Winchesters wouldn't get to work until nightfall, so we would have the chance to catch up. "I've pissed off a lot of things, not just people."

Sam sighed and went back to the couch, Mister immediately jumped onto his lap and demanded attention (as was his right) and Sam returned it sleepily. Mister seemed to have claimed the younger Winchester, and the arrangement seemed to just fine with him.

"Sam kidnapped by rednecks."

His brother chuckled, "You got your ass handed to you by a little girl."

"I stopped a sorcerer killing people with supercharged black magic."

"I killed a wendigo."

"I got to play babysitter with a bunch of kid werewolves and handle a loup-garou."

Dean's eyes lit up, "No way? A real…?" He shook his head and hardened his expression, "I took on a strega and saved a bunch of kids."

"I killed an undead spirit demon with my mind."

"I roasted a psychotic ghost of a doctor even after he played some mind trick on Sam and _shot_ me."

Sam sighed exasperatedly, "I'm sorry about that, I thought we were over that by this point." He gave me an apologetic look before continuing, "It was my fault, but I'll have you know he almost got sacrificed to a scarecrow."

Smiling, I triumphantly added, "I raised Sue the T-Rex and had her chomp down a bunch of zombies and necromancers. Better ride than your car ever was."

Dean looked hurt for a second and recovered by saying, "I saved a whole plane of people from a phantom traveler."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Dean, all of that stuff was both of us, stop taking all the credit. Besides, you're afraid of flying, you were freaking out for half the flight. "

Just to get the last word in I leaned forward to Dean and said, "I started the war with the Red Court _and _secretly unplanted the White King."

Dean paled, "Freaking God Dresden, that was _you_? You're even more reckless than we are." Sam looked at his brother confused then back at me. "You…" he stammered and staggered back, "Sammy and I have been dealing with some vampires ourselves. I heard about the war through our friend Bobby. He said the Council was trying to get in contact with the rest of us, but we work on our own, still, the vamps have been causing increased trouble in our circles as well."

"Well, I "technically" started it, but I had a very good reason to," I finished, feeling blood rush to my face. Telling others that I started what might turn out to be a very _very_ costly war seemed to be a bad idea on my part.

"Holy freaking hell Harry," Dean said, lifting an eyebrow cautiously, "Have you been okay with all this? I mean, if you need help Sam and I would be happy to…"

"There's a war?" Sam asked.

"Sort of, it's complicated," I explained. "There was this demon thing, attacking friends and so forth. I went to go investigate at Bianca's joint and unfortunately Susan was there. Bianca took her, and I went and got her back…" I looked down, "I tried to at least."

Dean stared at me silently, which was an awkward situation I didn't want to get into. Only Dean had picked up on the innuendo that lined my statement, and fortunately the younger Winchester interjected with "War between whom?"

"Wizards, or at least the White Council, and the Red Court vamps Sammy," Dean answered. "I was speaking to Bobby about it just the other day, it's why we've had more vampire attacks than normal. It's been going on for years now, Maybe a little before you started your freshman year at Stanford."

"Why haven't I heard about this before?"

"Not really something we talk about."

I looked at the brothers, something was building here, and I could feel the tension growing in the air around me. It was giving me a headache. It seemed like Dean had been keeping things from Sam, and apparently this wasn't the only time that Dean had done so.

"What do you mean by that Dean?" Sam asked, his voice turning harsher than before, while still playing with Mister's fur. "You neglected to tell me about a major _war_ going our under our noses? Dean, that is big news, I should be able to know about it.

"Sam, it's not important."

"The hell it is Dean!"

Wow, okay, this was something I didn't want to involve myself in. I had work to do... sweep the streets of little Chicago... stuff in my lab that I could be progressing on…

"Harry? Care to enlighten my brother about issues of underground politics?"

_Damn_…

I sighed and went over, sitting opposite of Sam and Dean took the spot next to me. I tapped on my knee and then said, "Okay, long story short, Red Court vampires declare war on the White Council. It's akin to the Cold War at this point, but both sides are more feeling each other out. They've been more active, enough so that you guys pick up on them. I don't know what more to say really…"

"White Council?" Sam questioned.

"Government-ish body of wizards, and you are all too familiar with the Red Court on your own."

"I didn't know there was this much going on," he sighed, "Sometimes with this… I dunno… a lot of the times it just feels like Dean and I against the world."

"You have friends, you just have to lean on them every now and then. Something big is coming; everyone in our world can feel it. Something bigger than all of us, and I think this tiff between the vamps and the White Council is just a sign of something worse to come."

"Heaven and hell itself is on edge," Dean growled.

"Faerie is tense too," I added.

"Somehow we find ourselves in the middle of it. That's wonderful," Sam whispered with a dark look in his eyes.

"We'll cross, salt, and burn that bridge when we get to it Sammy," Dean assured.

"It's just kinda surprising that there is… organization to these things."

Dean shrugged, "You get used to it, just make sure it doesn't use you. That's why I didn't tell you Sam, I didn't want to involve you with these people, I don't like them myself."

"Was Dad?"

"No, neither of us. But he had connections to some."

Sam sat silently for a moment, and then ventured, "Is there an organization of hunters like us?"

Dean laughed, but it was a nervous laugh and he seemed uncertain if he would answer, therefore, I interrupted, "There is, except the one that I do know of doesn't like wizards, therefore, I avoid them best I can. They don't really like anyone not the cookie-cutter version of Jack and Jill. There's another, good group of hunters that I knew your Father was heavily involved in but never claimed he was a part of. But most groups of mortal hunters? No, they're not good people."

Sam absently once again returned to petting Mister, but said quietly, "So why are you involved with this group of wizards?"

"Because I have to be, sort of thrust into it," I explained, "But they don't really like me. In fact, I think Morgan really wants to kill me."

"Morgan?" Dean said, looking up, "Is that the warden guy we ran into at the tavern?"

"The very same."

Dean looked at Sam, "Big man, stern eyes, big sword. Which reminds me, Harry, is the rest of the Council still gunning for you? Or has that been taken care of for the most part?"

"Hmm… well… no, they really still don't like me. They tolerate me, because I've been somewhat useful in stopping the end of the world. Then again, that whole thing with the vampires gives me the impression they'd be more than happy to hang me out to dry. They also don't like how I advertise that I'm a wizard - apparently wizardry isn't something you go shouting about in the streets of downtown Chicago," I laughed.

"And it's such a shame when no one believes you when you tell them that you hunt evil for a living," Dean sighed, recalling some incident which I was not privy to. He looked back at his brother with a boyish grin, "They were probably sizing me up for a straightjacket then weren't they Sammy? If they didn't want to arrest me so badly."

Hmmm… I wondered if that had anything to do with what Murphy had been discussing with me earlier, but anyway, she'd tell me soon enough. I pulled out the copies of the crime photos and laid them on the table for the younger men to look at. "See what you can discern from these. If you can't find anything to work on I'll drive you over to the crime scenes."

"Why can't we go and check them out by ourselves?" Dean asked, hunters usually work as themselves, and weren't used to help, or being told what to do. Neither are wizards, but whatever.

"Because it's SI, and if you're in as deep shit as you say you are those guys would be the ones to notice you. If you're with me then I can tell them to take five, maybe."

"If _you_ get caught with us you'll be in _deeper_ shit," Dean reminded me.

Sam looked at me with sincerity, "We don't want to cause you any trouble or inconvenience you like that."

"I've been in worse situations. I've had my fair share of arrests on my own. But still, I want to work with you guys on this, it'll be like old times."

They both nodded. Sam shifted his position and Mister rearranged himself on the younger Winchester's lap, "Where do we start wizard?"

I crossed my arms and stood up from the couch, it seemed like a simple case, three people (not including the various officers in Special Investigations) would be more than enough manpower. Wishful thinking on my part I suppose, because it seems that ideas like that never work out as I hope.

"Well…" I sighed, "With Bob on research duty… hmmm…"

"We'll go snooping," Dean put forth, "Not to any crime scenes or whatnot, just interviewing friends of the victims and the like. Which is actually something I can do solo. Sammy? Why don't you go with Harry to the scenes, see what you can gather."

Sam sat up alarmed, "We just discussed this Dean, Mr. Dresden told us that we shouldn't go near the scenes. We're still in hot water from the…"

"I know Sam," Dean reassured. "But you're not the one with his face plastered all over the news. You'll be fine. Keep the wizard out of trouble," he said with a wink in my direction. I rolled my eyes in return.

"That works," I said, with finality in my voice. "You guys want to grab a bite to eat first?"

"Do we!" Dean exclaimed, "I'm starved."

"Great," I replied, "We can take your car." I wanted to see their car, recalling how I envied it when Dean and John were in Chicago years ago. In fact, I wanted to drive their car, scratch that actually, I _wanted_ their car. No, I'm not jealous, I just very attached to the idea. Once again, trying to convince myself of this.

"The hell we are," Dean said, stopping me at my doorway, "I know you and your habit of breaking things – we are _not_ taking my car."

Sam looked at him puzzled.

Dean answered his brother's unasked question with, "Wizards, walking power malfunctions." He shook his head, "We take your excuse for a vehicle." He looked at the Blue Beetle with mild curiosity as we all stepped outside into the street. "No offense Dresden, but this heap of metal you call a car is a genuine piece of crap."

I laughed, "My car could outlive your car anyway."

My car, the infamous Blue Beetle, is no longer what one would properly call "blue" per say, rather a menagerie of shades of grey, green, red, and the original paintjob of powder blue. But hell, it has survived a truckload of abuse, all because Mike (my mechanic) is something of an omnipotent, omniscient, automotive God.

"I think the car is a part of the Winchester family," Sam grinned, "So long as there's one left the Impala will keep chugging away."

"_Chugging?!_ You say that like it's some kind of inferior Chitty Chitty Bang Bang type car Sammy. I won't have you treating her with that sort of disrespect."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

I sighed, and got into the driver side of the Beetle, "Are you boys coming?"

"Shotgun," Dean spat.

"Why do you get sho…"

Dean slapped Sam playfully on the back, "I'm older."

"I'm taller, I need more room to stretch my legs," Sam protested.

"I called it."

"You're both children," I sighed. "Dean, get in the back. Sam, stop arguing with your brother." I shut the door of the Beetle and started the engine. Grudgingly Dean crawled in the backseat, or, at least, what remained of the backseat. In retrospect it was rather funny, Dean seemed crunched up and his sour expression only made him seem more childish at his predicament. For good measure, Sam stretched his arms and took up as much space as possible in the passenger seat.

Once again, I just let out a small smile. Sam laughed.

Dean just glared at us.

--

**Author's Note: **Holy shit I updated… and before Equinox…

Anyway, really, this has become a monster of a fic that takes a lot of work to edit and work on because it's been through so many incarnations (even moreso than Equinox) and on top of that I really have to consider the fact that many of you probably are unfamiliar with the Dresden Files.

Anywho… I'm going to go finish editing the next chapter of Equinox and coughredocough the next few chapters of this.

**Leave a review!**I'm notoriously bad at updating fics, reviews are the way of reminding me to do so haha.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**--**

I don't really know what possessed me that night to stop at one of the nicer restaurants in Chicago, I sure as hell knew that I couldn't afford it on my meager budget but something about company and Caesar salads convinced me otherwise.

We were under-dressed certainly, but when cute little server Mattie brought out three cool lagers and bearing three silverware packets in cloth napkins Sam and I smiled with satisfaction.

I saw Dean give a wide boyish grin to the waitress, who blushed and skirted away from our table giggling to her fellow female co-workers.

It was on.

The gauntlet had been laid.

Harry Dresden, Wizard, Charmer of Ladies, and Master of Magic vs. Dean Winchester, Hunter, King of Hearts, and Kansas's Sean Connery of the Supernatural world.

Okay, _Sean Connery _is the Sean Connery of the supernatural world (he's a wizard, freaking powerful one at that) but you get the idea.

The Prize? Mattie was a masterpiece of old-fashioned beauty, dark brown hair curly and cropped at her ears, wearing a low-cut shimmering silver button down that busted out in all the right places. But things weren't looking good for me; I kept catching glances of the girl toward our table and one small wave from Dean to the kitchen door.

When she returned with Caesar salads for Sam and I however, I already saw that Dean had won this round. She batted her eyelashes at him and made playful movements on his side of the table. Artfully sitting on the side of the table, her backside protruding in Dean's "general" direction she asked, "What do you boys want as your main meal?"

"Besides you sweetheart?" Dean grinned.

Sam sighed, "Dean, you're incorrigible."

"Don't you know it," Dean replied.

Mattie blushed, "I'm on the clock darling."

I could feel the rustle of Sam's leg under the table and by the quick expression of pain on Dean's face I could tell the younger brother had kicked his brother. Dean grimaced and painfully smiled at Mattie, "That's too bad then…"

"I bet you don't even know what incorrigible _means_. Do you Dean?" Sam hissed.

"Dashingly handsome and charming?" Dean replied, still locking his gaze at Mattie.

Sam looked apologetically at the waitress, "See? He's not worth the time, He never finished third grade." Looking absently at the menu, Sam and I shared a fleeting glance, in which I told him (begged him) not to get something too expensive. That is because, as you know, being a humble public servant, I make very little money.

Think of a substitute teacher… only less.

"I'll have the Alaskan scallops and striped shrimp in the sauvignon blanc and tarragon, please," Sam finally decided, handing Mattie his menu.

I looked over mine, weighing my desire for a hearty steak versus my meager wallet. "Uhhh…" I stammered. Good steak or happy wallet? Decisions, decisions… "I'm going to go with the blackened sirloin with the roasted potatoes."

"How would you like that done?"

"Medium," I said giving her my own menu. I really wanted a good steak. Who cares if I wouldn't have enough money to eat for the next couple days? Oh, that's right, me in a couple days…

"Ribs," Dean said flatly, patting his stomach.

As Mattie left I saw Sam shake his head at Dean, "At least pretend like you have some class Dean, it's not everyday we get to eat in a nice restaurant like this. I don't remember the last time we've had cloth napkins at a restaurant. Cloth!" He waved the burgundy napkin in front of Dean's face.

Dean swatted it away and glared sourly at his younger brother. "Class? You're the one who dilutes perfectly good coffee with half a ton of cream and sugar each in the morning." Dean poked Sam's belly from across the table and Sam glowered in return. "See? You gotta cut back on the sugar dude. Like the freaking Pillsbury dough boy."

"As awesome as this Philly shit is," I sighed wringing my hands together anxiously, "the point is, we have a real problem on our hands here guys. I mean, I'd be more than delighted if you guys joined me on this case…"

"It's a hunt," Dean interrupted simply, "We find the thing, we kill it."

I rolled my eyes, as much I "loved" hunters (I don't) they didn't understand the more delicate nature of us sedentary folk. Simply put they skip town when all is said and done. I have to clean up, work out loose ends, deal with whatever trouble I may have gotten myself in so it doesn't land me in jail…

Get paid.

"But as I was thinking about it, it occurred to me. That's _really_ deep shit. Not just for you guys, but for me as well. Probably for Murphy too, because if any one would find you guys it would be her. Then they would look into Murphy's reliance upon me as a consult, get into some inter-department investigation crap and it would get really dirty really fast."

I meant it too. Sure, I was friends with the Winchesters. But I wasn't going to risk losing Murphy for them. She meant too much to me for that.

Dean was growing uncomfortable and dropped his napkin on the table. I studied his tense posture and it didn't take a genius, and don't get me wrong, I'm far from genius category, to know that he didn't like where I was going – I was going to tell him to leave. Why he would be upset over that I didn't understand, I mean, the kid was wanted, and he had tossed his hat in with someone who deals with police all the time.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he said gruffly, standing up and stretching some. He wandered away scratching his head casually and from where I could tell paraded over to ask the waitresses where the restroom was.

Sam looked at me sympathetically, "Yeah, we get it." Sam sighed deeply, "Dean took Dad's death pretty hard. I did too but…" he trailed off.

"You two didn't get along did you?" I asked cautiously.

Sam gave me a queer glance before shaking it off. "Umm, yeah. How'd you know that?"

"Kid, I'm probably _at least_ ten years older than you. And no offense to your life or what have you, but I've seen a lot of crap in my day that I'd rather not repeat. I know what it means to not get along with your guardian or whatever. At least _you_ didn't kill him by burning him to death."

Sam shut his mouth. Yeah, I would've liked to see how he addressed that one. Damn straight I had him by years. Awkwardly, he ventured, "We had this one hunt, vampires of all things. And you actually reminded me of this with that talk of some war. Anyway, Dean fell in with this asshole, Gordon Walker. I think he might be one of those hunters that you mentioned. But Dean fell in with this guy because, I think, he wanted to find someone to replace Dad."

I stared at Sam passively, pursing my lips together as he processed his thoughts.

"I don't believe he's quite over that yet. I know Gordon was bad news, but something about you makes me think that if you give Dean this chance it could really help him," Sam whispered, then finished by adding pleadingly, "Don't tell Dean I said that."

I made a childish motion by crossing my heart with an imaginary X. "Cross my heart, hope to die."

Sam laughed, "Fire a shotgun in your eye."

"I don't think that's quite how it goes," I joked.

"Hyperbole, for dramatic effect," Sam elaborated jokingly.

Dean came back and sat down with a deep sigh, "The guy in the fancy vest gave me a towel in the bathroom. Honestly, the purpose of a bathroom… in, out, and on with life." Dean laughed suddenly, rich and heartily, "That guy has to listen to people piss _all day_. God, talk about a crappy job."

I'll admit, it was funny, and while I thought it was remarkably hilarious, apparently the pun had gotten lost in translation for Sam who looked at his brother puzzled. "Get it?" I asked him. "Crappy? Job?"

It was priceless, in under a moment Sam's face turned from mild confusion to utter disgust. "You're so immature sometimes Dean."

"Harry thought it was funny," Dean mumbled in response, his face stuffed with the "free" French bread Mattie had laid out for us. Sam gave me one small look before glaring once again at Dean. "Oh come on! It was a tiny bit funny, you have to admit it!" Dean protested, swallowing the bread.

Sam rolled his eyes and decided to drop the subject, or more like avoid it if anything. "Think we can get into dead guy's apartment tonight after this?"

"Shouldn't be too hard, there'll still be a guard probably. But if I had to guess it'll be somebody from S.I. so I can get us in. Don't show anything fake, or say… well… don't say anything to incriminate you."

Sam gave me a look that told me he obviously knew that. But hey, in my shoes it's never bad to cross every t and dot every i and make sure every base is covered. The younger Winchester took a slow sip from his drink, then said, "We won't. I won't. Dean you have the addresses of the other victim's family's right?"

"Yeah, yeah I do," Dean waved off. His face turned toward a waiter bringing out food in our direction and gave a pitiful look of disappointment as he passed our table.

While the Winchester's discussed the finer aspects of interviewing grieving families (don't hit on sister's, wives, or mothers – you know, basic rules to live by) I was mulling over the infinite dynamic abilities of an empty wallet. I.O.U. holder.

Dean smiled as he spied Mattie and another waitress approaching with a tray of food. "Here's grub," he said with a grin.

Crappy make believe bird.

Mattie set the tray on one of those collapsible stands that were oh so bloody convenient. She smiled at us politely as she distributed the plates, saying, "Here you go boys. I figured you might be getting hungry."

Butt cushion…

"Just let me know if you need anything else, okay?" Mattie finished sweetly, flashing a smile at the three of us. God, she was attractive. As she walked away I noticed Dean didn't even try to conceal the fact his was studying her fine, shapely ass.

Sam frowned at Dean, throwing a piece of garnish at his brother's face and Dean batted it away scowling. "Dude what was that for?" He asked indignantly.

I looked downward at my meal, thinking about my own brother… well… half brother. Thomas and I hadn't grown up together and seeing the Winchesters made me think about if I had. I had Elaine to be sure, but our time with DuMorne barely qualified as the piecemeal family it was.

Dean pursed his lips followed up by a grin towards Sam, his cheeks puffed out with pork and barbeque glaze sticking to the side of mouth, "These ribs are amazing…"

"Keep your mouth closed when you eat Dean," Sam said tiredly.

Dean grunted happily with another bite of his ribs and I had to agree with Dean, the food ended up being damn good.

Best part about it?

Sam Raimi paid for it.

--

**Author's Note:** Holy crap, you guys just won't let this fic _die_ will you? About every five/six days or so I get an annoying reminder with "So and so left a review" or "So and so added this to their story alert" so BLAH yeah… You all get to thank **RhiannonNymph** for me actually updating. Her review was amazing. And that **Turn Coat** is coming out in a few days so yeah… Dresden kick. As well as the AWESOME episode last night. Dear God… _"You should've seen Luke…"_

Leave more reviews and it may encourage me to update sooner than in a vague "couple days"

But seriously, I feel bad, so next chapter is going up Sunday. Tell your friends. Freeze ray. It's gonna be big.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**--**

After driving back to my place, I dropped Dean off at the curb, intending to go straight to the crime scene. He crawled out of the Beetle without too much trouble, and only managing to "accidentally" hit his brother in the head twice.

He adjusted the collar of his jacket with a smirk towards Sam, "Sorry about that Sammy boy. Won't happen again."

Sam frowned at Dean, closing the door of the beetle, "Sure Dean. _Never_ again."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on me, and I probably would have done the same, but I could sympathize with Dean because being stuck in the back of a car truly did suck. The older Winchester waved us off and meandered his way to his own car. I turned the engine on of the beetle, albeit after three failed attempts, and pulled onto the street.

At the crime scene, there was a newbie guard at the door, but at least he recognized me and let me through. Initially he tried to stop Sam from getting in, but my smooth talking skills managed to convince him that Sammy was my cousin, looking into becoming a cop. Seeing as how the crime scene had been thoroughly dusted over and swabbed, I figured he couldn't tamper with anything.

When inside, I closed the door and Sam immediately went into investigation mode. I, on the other hand, had already been to the site so I just casually walked around while Sam was inspecting the bullet holes remaining in the walls.

"No sulfur, that much is certain. At least no traces of it left by your friend," Sam sighed.

"Nah, hadn't heard from Murphy involving anything sulfur. She would've found that out of the ordinary enough to mention it to me."

"There doesn't seem to be much about this case in the ordinary," Sam replied.

I laughed, it was true, things never seemed to follow a pattern. Even in the supernatural world, beings, entities, followed certain codes, humans are not the only creatures of habit – I was always unlucky enough to find the ones that didn't. I looked around once more, stuffing my hands in my duster.

Sam lightly touched one of the bullet holes left behind and glanced at me, "Either this guy had horrible aim or the thing was moving freaking fast."

I nodded in agreement, "Yep, and seeing the size of this place, having bad aim would be quite the feat. Even a four year old could probably have hit something stationary at this range."

Sam followed me as I inspected the threshold, and raised a skeptical eyebrow, "Are you getting anything?"

I shook my head, "Not really? Maybe a really pissed off spirit or ghoul. Vampires can't be ruled out. Neither black dogs."

"Dhampir?"

I tilted my head to the side. That made sense actually…

When I didn't respond immediately Sam elaborated, "Humanoid appearance, fast as hell. The girl Bob… ummm… showed us had dark hair, pale and looked slightly…" He stumbled over the words, to be fair I would have to, but thankfully I abandoned tact a long time ago.

"Dead?" I suggested.

Sam looked at me grimly, "Zombies kinda fit too. Dean and I had a case a few months ago…"

"I don't like zombies…" I interrupted flatly. "I mean, I can deal with zombies. I just don't _like_ zombies."

The younger man massaged his forehead anxiously, he huffed and then finally said, "It just… I mean I feel like I'm in an episode of _House._ There are clues pointing one way but then something else throws us for a loop. It's too elegant for ghouls and zombies, too… corporeal for spirits, and _vampires don't bleed_ when you shoot them. I want to say demon but so far there isn't evidence of demonic involvement…" Sam faced out the window of the apartment, thinking his way through the case and seemingly grasping at straws. "I just hope Dean comes up with something."

I nodded in agreement; there wasn't much to work on besides the blood and the missing organs…

I closed my eyes, even though I didn't want to use my Sight I was running out of options. Opening them again I could see the apartment swirled with dark shadows and despair, tell tale signs of the recent murder clinging in the very air. Sam was veiled in the darkness, so much that I couldn't even see him, not that I wanted to granted, but that was a puzzle for another day.

"Dresden?" The shadow Sam moved closer to me.

I held my hand out at arms length to keep him from moving closer. The shadow stiffened but didn't move. I walked over to the window were Sam had been earlier and brushed my hand over the sill. Something silver caught my eye, which fell off the window and onto the carpeted floor below. I picked it up, looking at it closer.

It was a string.

Not just any string, mind you, but a magical tie. It was as fine as spider silk and invisible to the naked eye. It's used sometimes by necromancers, puppeteers, or any sort of animators. Long story short it's they're the magical residues left behind by things created or controlled by a master.

But masters needed things to make their little puppets. A heart here, a liver there…

The missing organs…

The missing…

Dropping my Sight, I stood up abruptly, startling Sam. "It's a construct."

"A what?"

"A magical construct, like a doll… or… or… or a puppet," I stammered, the theory running circles triumphantly around my head. How did I not see it before? The missing organs were the key. "Zombies are raised without a soul, most of the time with no strings attached, unless controlled by the necromancers drum. But _constructs_ are more complex, so they're bound to their master until they're complete and the master can create a soul for it to function on its own. Pinocchio desperately wanted to be a real boy, and so Geppetto tried to make him as real as possible but unfortunately you can't turn wood into flesh just as you can't make a dead body alive again without it's original parts!"

Sam seemed lost in my ramblings and I admittedly got away from myself as well. I tend to do that when I get excited. He blinked owlishly and said, "So we're dealing with a designer zombie that _isn't_ a zombie?"

"For lack of a better analogy," I compromised.

It seemed to have sunk in as Sam's face lit up eagerly, "The missing organs… I bet they're transplants."

"So whoever's organs they were originally _that's_ who our construct is," I finished.

"And the construct will lead us back to the puppet master," Sam added knowingly.

I gathered up my staff and coat, eager to get a move on now that I had a lead. I could use the blood from earlier for tracking, and now that I knew the person was dead I wouldn't have it blow up in my face. I could also try to find if there were any more ties around, see where they all led to…

"That girl was _incomplete,_" Sam said sadly.

I grimaced, I hated when the girl was already dead.

Dean had been waiting outside my apartment when we got back, leaning against his car casually. When he saw us he jogged over and eyed us both tiredly. "So I gotta tell you, the families were…" he faltered, searching for the right word, "Useless. No weird activities, no mysterious anything. All the victims were vanilla as…" His eyebrows knotted in frustration.

"Vanilla?" Sam offered.

He glared at his brother, "whatever dude."

"We think we know what we're dealing with," I ground out. "A construct. A "designer" zombie as your brother so eloquently put it."

"Great!" Dean exclaimed merrily, "Let's stake the bitch and go drinking."

Ah hunters. They're so _great._

I sighed, "It's not that simple." He raised a tired eyebrow at me, his expression reading _is it ever?_ "Okay look, I told this to Sam already but constructs can't be killed by themselves. We need to find the puppet master controlling her before she drops."

I released the wards protecting my apartment with ease and armed them after the Winchesters had filed through.

"Harry…" Bob said hurriedly as I descended the stairs. The ghost seemed even paler than normal, if that was indeed possible, and rushed, which was never, _ever,_ in my experience a good thing. I had seen Bob this way before, but only when dealing with serious black mojo, such as the incident with Kemmler's apprentices.

Let me explain, Kemmler had been a necromancer, freakin' powerful too. Apparently he caused World War Two. And no, I don't mean oh the man contributed, I mean _started._ Bob had been his assistant. Bob knew things, bad things, things he didn't want to remember… dark magic the world won't ever forget.

There is a very good reason I don't like zombies.

"Hey Bob, the thing that committed those murders was…"

"A construct. Yes I know. I had gone through the papers again. It turns out that a Miranda Grasser was killed in a car accident only a few weeks ago. The newspaper said that…"

"Her organs were donated," I finished impatiently.

Bob passed me a small smile, "Exactly." He always seemed pleased when I figured something out on my own, in a quiet acknowledging way. I think it made him happy, maybe atonement for some past sin, to pass on his knowledge to me as I earnestly tried to be a "good guy."

But hey, you know what they say about the road to hell.

"It won't be hard to find her," Bob continued, looking uneasily at the hunters for a moment. No doubt Bob was a slightly more than dubious of them, even though I didn't tell them how he was bound into servitude through the skull I had in my lab. They didn't need to know. I didn't want them to get any ideas about exorcising the helpful spirit.

Not that I don't think Bob would've toasted them before they could. Few hunters had or ever will meet with a spirit of Bob's aptitude and raw power. He might not have a body, but I'd be damned if he didn't pack a punch.

"So we can track her down to track down the master," Sam stated flatly, obviously past the whole "Bob the ghost" thing.

Dean frowned professionally, "And cut the strings." To put it mildly…

Both the spirit and I shared a look, and I knew he was thinking the same as I was. Zombie's were cakewalk to raise, and control with a simple three-four beat… constructs required a much more delicate control, and a sustained one. _Warlock…_

The look was short lived though as Bob vanished into thin air as soon as we heard the doorbell. I generally didn't get people coming to my apartment, clients and the sort went to my office that was on the other side of town, and therefore I had no idea who could be on the other side of the blast door.

The Winchesters were tense, which, granted, was understandable. I quickly ran down the list of people who it might be. Michael? Maybe, but doubtful. Most likely would've been my brother Thomas. Which, mental note. Call Thomas.

Undeterred I climbed up the steps to the heavy steel blast door leading into my basement apartment. Releasing the wards with a wave of my fingers and the least effort of my power, I unlocked the door and opened it up.

Lieutenant Karrin Murphy stared down at me and then _past_ me. I felt the blood drain from my face as I realized…

_Shit._

Lighting fast she had her weapon upholstered and aimed directly at Dean Winchester.

--

A/N: So yeah. Karrin Murphy. Kicking ass and taking names.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**--**

Without skipping a beat, as soon as I opened the door to my apartment, Murphy had her gun drawn pointed at…

Shit…

Murphy had her gun pointed at the Winchester brothers, specifically Dean Winchester.

"Whoa there," I stated, holding my hands up. "What's the problem here Murph?" It's not like Murphy to draw her guns on random civilians…

_Shit_…

Random civilians my ass. The FBI, police, and demons wanted the Winchester's… every sort of suit and spook imaginable.

"Dresden, get behind me," Murphy ordered, still looking at Dean fiercely.

I didn't plan on doing that, in fact, I'm just the sort of guy who is stupid (or brave as I like to think) enough to step _in front_ of the piece Murphy had aimed. "I don't think so Karrin. These are the guys helping me with the case, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to… how do the kids say it nowadays? Cap their asses? Please?"

Murphy rolled her eyes, "Well, _Harry,_ do you even _know_ you're housing a very wanted serial killer?"

"No," I answered quickly, then I changed my mind, "Okay, I do…"

Sam stared at me incredulously, crossing his arms across his chest.

I gave Murphy a small, innocent smile. "He's actually _not_ a serial killer if that helps."

Murphy glared at me, but didn't move her weapon.

"Murph, please…" I pleaded.

Then she did something which doesn't happen everyday… in a flash, the gun went from it's position near my stomach (in line with Dean) to right… between… my eyes… I had widened my eyes at the action and consciously stepped down a step into my apartment. "Karrin, don't do something stupid," I said quietly.

"Really Dresden?" she barked. "Because how I see it, stupid is the only thing _you_ seem to be good at. That, and getting yourself into trouble!" Her aim remained steady, and her voice became strangely calm and flat, "Harry Dresden, you are under arrest for the willing protection of wanted felons, aiding and abetting of… well gosh, _several,_ counts of murder."

"Come on lady! Lower you gun!" I heard Dean yell behind me.

"Lieutenant Murphy, seriously, lets talk about this," I also heard Sam chime in.

Murphy, cold as ice, continued on, "You have the right to remain silent…"

I lowered my hands and looked at her blankly, gun still pointed at my temple.

"Anything you say can, and will, be used against you in a court of law…"

I became expressionless, as stoic as Murphy was.

"You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford one, which you probably _don't,_ one will be provided for you…"

"Murphy, listen to me. Hear me out," I said earnestly, "As friends, allow me this. Please. Then you can arrest me, and use my witty remarks against me in court, and get me a lawyer because let's be honest here, I'm completely broke."

The blonde's stern scowl faltered, and she dropped her gun a few inches, of course, it was still in the _general_ direction of my face. Which wasn't a problem, just a bit distracting.

"Look Murph, I know it seems, uhh, bad. But you've seen some pretty screwed up things in your life, and not all of them fall within the general sense of reason for normal people. The Winchesters are one of those things. What they're accused of? The things they _supposedly_ did? Is it really too hard to believe that they didn't do those things?"

"I…" her voice cracked, "I believe what I see with my own eyes Dresden."

"But knowing what I am?" I asked. I shot my hand in the direction of the dark night outside, "And knowing what's out there? Those boys are like you Murph! They've seen those things! They've fought them! They're just like you!"

She blinked, and resumed the gun's spot at my temple. So that was the wrong thing to say apparently. "No Harry, I'm not a fugitive."

I dropped my hand uselessly to the side, and could hear Sam shuffling uneasily below. "You've got to believe me Murph…"

Murphy laughed, a cold sarcastic laugh that she was _really_ good at, "Harry? Do remember back at the scene?"

I looked at her questioningly, waiting for her to continue. It's not like I had much of a choice really, what with the barrel of a gun pointed two inches from my forehead.

"I asked you to come look at something that had popped in my office the week before. It was a videotape Dresden. It had your friend here spouting off some crackpot story…"

"So you _know_ that Harry's telling the truth!" Dean yelled. "All of that stuff I said!? They weren't lies! That's really who we are and what we do!"

Murphy went on uninterrupted, "Crackpot story which some FBI suit sent to me, leaving a note saying I was an expert in this brand of crazy! Because of the work I do with you, it turns out that I am now officially to go to person, not only for Chicago, but apparently the whole freaking country! I wanted you to take a look at it Dresden! Because…"

She dropped the gun.

"Because for a second I believed it. And if I tell this Hendrickson that, then…"

"Whatever that tape had on it... whatever Dean was saying?" I placed my hands on her shoulders firmly, "It's true, and we're dealing with a very nasty bad guy, controlling someone into these murders. So I'm working _with_ the Winchesters for a while, but I work _for you._" I gave her a look of reassurance and added, "I promise I'll keep them on a tight leash."

"I'm keeping you on a tighter one," she replied.

For a second I thought I caught a slight smile tug on her lips, the kind of forgiving smile shared by elderly couples built of years of patience and love. But I knew better than that.

"… car Harry?" She asked brusquely, moment broken.

"Uhh," I stammer. "Car. Right. Just around the corner," I reply, motioning past her towards the street.

She holstered her gun, although making it more than obvious that it was readily accessible at a moments notice. "Okay then children. Field trip," she ordered. The blonde jerked her head to the street for Sam and Dean.

Dean's eye twitched at her, "Where are we going?"

"Does it matter?" she asked sharply, "Hurry up." Murphy stood about eight inches shorter than Dean, but she had all of us on edge, and made it abundantly clear who was in charge.

I sighed, "Where are we…?"

Murphy glared at me. Okay, so, still mad… _awesome_. "My place. And _these_ two are coming with us."

--


End file.
